


Counting The Ways To Where You Are

by bibliomaniac



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporarily Unrequited Love, also this goes from a bit before the beginning of homestuck to a while into the credits, although it's a damn long 'temporary', it's not smutty anyway but in case that bothers you rest assured i suppose, so there are kids with crushes on each other but when they get together they're of age, touched on at one point so please be careful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 06:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15600471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliomaniac/pseuds/bibliomaniac
Summary: Dave Strider learns pretty early on that he loves John Egbert. It takes John a lot longer to figure out that he loves Dave too.((aka john working out his orientation over many years while remaining completely oblivious somehow to dave loving him))





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok so. i finished rereading homestuck yesterday and in doing my usual post-fandom fic roundup i remembered that when i was reading it the first time i really wanted to write some johndave. at the time, though, i had never published a fic and i didn't think i could write dave well (which hasn't changed let's be clear) so i didn't. but now...now.
> 
> god this wasn't supposed to be so long lol
> 
> anyway basically john's journey to learning about his orientation mirrors my own on a slightly faster timeline. he at one point identifies as aromantic and then later decides he's demiromantic. this is not meant to say anything about aromantic people all someday realizing that they can actually feel romantic attraction after all, obv, 'cause that's not true. in my personal case i identified as aromantic for many years before eventually deciding that the more accurate term for where i'm at right now is demiromantic, though i still have a lot of wobbliness surrounding that whole business, so that's reflected here. if that bothers you i am sincerely sorry and i assure you i do not intend erasure here! 
> 
> also to warn you up front--the second chapter involves discussion about depression and touches on suicidal ideation. i'll warn again in that chapter, but if you don't want to start on something that will trigger you, please do be careful!

You are eleven years old, and you do not know what love is.

You are not expected to know what it is, of course. You are eleven. When you’re eleven, love is supposed to be something you observe. You’re supposed to watch Disney movies and see princes falling in love with princesses after just one dance and think, ah, I see, that is what it will be like. Or you’re supposed to look at your parents and see them kiss each other and you’ll turn your face away with disgust but you’ll add that to your collection of notes too—ah, I see. That’s what it will be like someday. Or maybe even you’ll see your parent as they read you to sleep even though they’re clearly tired and you’ll think, ah. I see. This is what someone loving me feels like.

You, of course, have never had any of these things happen. You were raised by your brother, and he doesn’t keep Disney around the house, and if he kisses somebody they always leave the next morning, and he’s certainly never read you to sleep. All of these hypotheticals have been explained to you by your best friend, John Egbert.

You’ve known him for about a year, ever since his friend Jade introduced him to her friend Rose who introduced him to you. He’s a huge nerd, but you didn’t (and don’t) have friends in person, and his cheerful attitude and willingness to goof around with you made him grow on you pretty quickly. You wouldn’t tell him this unless you first couched it in multiple thick layers of sarcasm and irony and maybe outright denial, but now he’s probably the person you look forward to talking with most every day.

Even if he talks about love, which is dumb.

 

EB: look i just think it’s really nice to think about is all! that someday i can have someone to have kids with and a house and a romantic adventure, like in con air.

TG: you’re procreating first and then having the romantic adventure? damn dude, who will watch your hordes of spawn while you’re getting trapped on an airplane escort mission for a stuffed animal

EB: don’t be dumb dave! that was obviously not meant to be a strict timeline!

TG: gotcha. so first comes your mortgage and then your crotch progeny and then airplanes

EB: daaaaaave

TG: i have to say i think it’s a bit irresponsible to foist your property tax off onto this mystery person x even when you are planning on later sweeping them off their feet after years in jail by delivering a plush fuckrabbit

EB: language! and you know that’s not what i mean at all. i just think it’s nice to think about somebody loving you and you loving them back is all! jeez!

TG: someday i’ll convince you to stop being a pansy-ass bitch about the fuck word but for today i will give up. i’m sobbing on my bed due to this incredible defeat, egbert, the tears are staining my already-dubiously-stained pillow and i’m all out of kleenex

EB: ew dude. have you ever considered laundry

TG: what as a romantic option?

EB: no! as a cleaning option!

TG: oh right i forgot you’re the one who gets boners over tide pods, not me. damn. need to write up that list about our respective tastes so i stop getting that mixed up.

EB: for petes sake dave i do no such thing and it’s incredibly inappropriate to even suggest that i do! i’m straight, not laundrysexual!

TG: coulda fooled me

 

It’s the first time he’s told you he’s straight, but it’s not really something you’ve ever thought about anyway, and also not really news. John’s version of love involves a girl. Yours will too, probably, if it ever happens. That’s just how it works.

 

* * *

 

You are twelve years old, and you’re starting to wonder if that’s true.

Not that girls aren’t…okay. Rose and Jade are nice. You’d never date them, obviously, but they’re nice. But guys are also kind of nice too. Like John.

No. Not like John. Just in that he is a guy and nice, but not in—you’d never date him either. Obviously.

It’s not like you don’t know that guys can like guys. Your older brother is gay, you’re pretty sure. At least most of the people that have come over in the past are guys. You’ve even done a few web searches here and there. Bisexuality is a thing. And pansexuality. And, you know, whatever. Lots of shit a person can be is your point. What you’re wondering at is about what it is, specifically, that _you_ be.

And increasingly you’re starting to think that you might be someone who likes guys in a way you could like girls, is your other point.

Like. When you think about holding hands with—a guy. A nonspecific guy. It makes you feel sort of happy to think about. Or, like, cuddling with them on the couch. Or…like, watching a movie with them, maybe a really shitty movie that they still think is great for some reason but you just sort of like being able to see them smile about it. Or. You know. Things like that, theoretically.

Or like, sometimes you think about how guys look and it’s not awful. Like maybe some of them are cute. Like—just as an objective example. John. He’s sent you a few pictures of him, shit from his birthday and such, and—like, obviously you wouldn’t date him, but from a purely objective standpoint, he’s kind of cute, is all. Like the braces are silly but his hair looks soft and like it would be nice to touch. 

Just objectively and without any of your personal feelings involved, of course.

It’s not something you can talk about with Bro. You guys don’t exactly talk. And Rose would psychoanalyze you, and Jade is great, but also kind of silly sometimes. And so you bring it up with John. He’s your best bro, after all.

 

TG: so if theoretically one day you looked at a guy and thought like. i wouldn’t mind dating that guy. would that be fucked up or what

EB: huh?

EB: that’s kind of out of nowhere dude! also it’s a thought i wouldn’t ever have, because i’m not a homosexual and also i don’t really want to date right now. but if i did and i were then it wouldn’t be messed up right? like. i know we joke about it but being gay isn’t actually a weird thing

TG: yeah the you wasn’t meant to be you literally. more like a general you.

EB: general you? have you just enlisted me in the army? but what about my family

TG: id love to go on this cool army tangent with you except for fuck the army and also by general you i also mean kind of like me

EB: you?

EB: …as in you are the person who would look at a guy and wouldn’t mind dating them?

TG: theoretically. adverbs are important. don’t leave them out in the cold bro you’re cruel

EB: haha sorry. they can have some hot chocolate while i light the fireplace. (just kidding i am not allowed to light the fireplace)

EB: um i’m sort of not sure what you’re getting at with this but are you saying you’re gay?

TG: no man of course not

TG: i’m just saying like

TG: theoretically i might be as open to dating a guy at some point as a girl. like that door is theoretically a bit open for everybody who wants a piece of strider ass

EB: looks like you’re keeping this adverb plenty warm yourself :P it’s ok i’ll let you woo this one since you’re so attached

EB: ‘hypothetically’ if this were the case then. uh i mean you’d still be you i guess! dave strider, coolkid and huge dork and also my best friend! so if you were worried about that then don’t be

TG: theoretically if all of this were the case then. you know. thanks

TG: nothing quite as reassuring as a hypothetical proclamation of undying brolove from your bro

EB: oh dave that’s not hypothetical. i’m typing it up as we speak to send out to every computer in the usa. soon everybody will know of our brolove and also of the terms i am setting which are that they’ll give me money if they don’t want this to pop up every time they log in.

TG: what a beautiful gesture

TG: or it would be if you weren’t actually awful at hacking

EB: you cut deep strider. this blood comes directly from my heart.

TG: just be sure to not get it on my nice couch, im having a dinner party later and you know goddamned well how the smiths get when they see blood on my nice couch

EB: and you know just as goddamned well that the smiths going ballistic over your couch murders is the best part of your shitty dinner parties!

 

The banter between you goes back to normal quietly, but your heart feels a bit calmer knowing that he’s okay with it. Even though he’s still straight. Which is fine, since you would never date him.

  

* * *

 

You are thirteen years old, and while that statement still holds true, it’s not for lack of interest on your part. You still don’t know what love is, but you know what a crush is, and you know that you have one.

On John.

Fuck.

It’s not like you’ll ever let him know. Rose knows because you told her and also because she’s weirdly perceptive. Jade probably knows because she’s also weirdly perceptive, but it hasn’t come up between you. But John definitely doesn’t know, and you’re fine with keeping it that way. He’d never date you. He’s straight, and also completely uninterested in dating.

 

EB: honestly i just don’t see the point of dating at this age! none of us can even drive for fuck’s sake.

 

(He’d finally relented on The Fuck Word, and you couldn’t be more proud.)

 

EB: like what kind of lame-ass date is it to say ‘hey my dad is going to pick both of us up and drop us off at dave and busters?’

EB: a VERY lame-ass date is what it is.

EB: i don’t get it. my dad has a no dating until sixteen rule anyway. so i guess by then i’ll think it’s cool, and also i’ll be able to drive so it works out.

TG: the ladies will think you’re the coolest guy in town rolling up in your borrowed family sedan

TG: roll down the windows with a wink and say hey babycakes i’ve been saving up my allowance in order to allow us both to go to the movies

TG: what movies they say swooning. perhaps the popular one that has come out recently?

TG: no you say masculine sixteen year old jawline causing them to swoon harder. the dollar theater is showing ghostbusters again.

TG: and then they break up with you

EB: oh please! they don’t get a date in the first place unless they are down to watch ghostbusters with me! i am premium date material you know. or will be. there will be an extensive screening process.

TG: what like a surveymonkey saying ‘hey are you a huge fuckin nerd?’ and they click yes and the response is ‘cool lets bone’ and your number

EB: that would be awfully crude. besides it’s not like i would be having sex with them

TG: you a third date type

EB: the point of having sex is for people to have kids, right? and that only happens once you get married.

TG: john

TG: are you serious

TG: is that what you honestly think the point of sex is

EB: yeah? i guess some people also do it because they want to but i’ve never really gotten that part

TG: i don’t know what there is to get, people fuck cause it feels good and sometimes cause they like somebody and then very sometimes for kids

EB: jeez dave! i just don’t get it, all right, it sounds messy and weird and that’s it.

TG: ok ok. i wont push anymore.

TG: and fyi

TG: whoever gets to date you when youre a dashing sixteen year old with a borrowed car and a license had better be willing to watch ghostbusters with you or ill order them like ten glitterbombs

EB: haha! that’s very considerate of you dave. but hey if they don’t want to watch with me we can just watch it instead! :P

 

You’ll never let him know. You’ll never let him know how remarks like that simultaneously make your heart beat faster and make it hurt. He’ll never know, and you’ll get over him and it will be fine.

John’s birthday comes, though, and with it the end of the world, and things aren’t that fine at all. You see a lot of things when you start time traveling. You may not have the memory of your doomed timeline counterparts, but eventually you do have Davesprite, and he doesn’t talk about how hard it was seeing John die and having to live without him, but you do see the way he looks at John’s text on Pesterchum sometimes. And John dies on his quest bed, and he comes back but—there’s so much, so much to deal with, and this crush should be the least of it, but then you’re going on a suicide mission and then you’re on a meteor with a bunch of trolls and Rose and none of them are him.

Three years. Three years without talking to him. Three years completely without John.

You try not to mind. You briefly date Terezi, then Karkat, but you think both of them can tell your heart isn’t really in it even when you kiss them. You reread old conversations between you and him on your computer, and you even watch bad movies partially because they remind you of him. You miss him. You miss him so much.

 

* * *

 

You are sixteen years old, and today is supposed to be the day you meet John. Properly, in person, the whole deal. Rose tells you you’re fidgeting with your clothes again. Karkat tells you you’re an idiot and that if you’re nervous about fighting Lord English or Jack or whatever that you can talk to him.

You don’t talk to him. That’s not what you’re nervous about. Maybe it’s what you should be nervous about, but somehow the weight of John-in-person feels heavier. Especially because he’s sixteen now, too, and…no. He wouldn’t date you. He’s straight. So.

He appears before you almost before you have time to register it, and you can barely talk at first because your throat is dry. God, he was cute before, but now he’s _hot,_ broad shoulders and muscles and that jawline you had predicted, with adorably fluffy hair and those glasses and a grin that borders on blinding.

When you finally talk to him, Karkat is there too, and John asks whether you and Karkat dated, and you dance around the subject because you and Karkat dating is not really what you want to be on his mind right now. Not that the thing you want to be on his mind would be. But. 

He hugs you at some point, and he’s warm and strong and you feel like you’re melting a little bit before he lets you go.

“I’m so happy all of you are safe now,” he says, pulling back to look you in the eyes with more sincerity than you think you’re capable of absorbing at the moment. “I’m so glad you’re all okay.”

You stammer out something—probably something about how you’re glad to see him too, but ironic, or maybe not ironic at all. Probably coherent, but also maybe not that at all either. You don’t remember. All you remember is his beautiful smile and the way he looks when you leave, a tiny grin and a wave and a promise to see you on the other side.

And he does. You win. All of you win. You get a new world to inhabit and to build up and to guide to what you hope is a good path. You’re busy, and sometimes John is there and sometimes he’s not, but being able to see him and know he can come by if you ask is enough. So it’s fine again. It really is.

It's fine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning! this chapter includes frank discussion of depression by someone in the midst of a depressive episode and someone used to it. in doing so they also touch on suicidal ideation and pretty severe hopelessness. it ends up being managed, but if you think this kind of discussion could set you off or make you more sad than you think you are able to handle, please either don't read or exhibit extreme caution in reading!
> 
> there's also a bit of john getting down on himself for being aro ace. these thoughts are refuted, and i'm just staying true to my own thoughts when i was working this stuff out myself, but i apologize if it causes any discomfort.

You are seventeen years old, and you’re talking with him in his house, watching Ghostbusters. Neither of you are really paying attention, but it makes good background noise. It’s not really an important conversation until you say jokingly, “So the Ghostbusters date ended up happening after all.” 

You don’t miss how he stiffens, then sags. “Ha. Yeah. Dating.”

“I was joking, dude. I know this isn’t a date.”

“Yeah, I know. Just…” He exhales. “I had a lot of time to think when I was on that ship for three years. Jade and Davesprite dated for a while, like I said, and like…at first I was surprised, because it hadn’t even occurred to me that people were…doing that. Like, dating, actually. I knew it happened, but it never really happened around _me._ ” He fidgets with his fingers. “So I thought about it, and like…I’m sixteen now. Nearly seventeen. And I kept thinking about that dream I had when I was younger about having a wife and kids and a house and it just felt like…something so far away from me. I don’t understand why people date when they could just be friends and avoid the drama. I don’t understand why people have sex or get married or—” His fidgeting grows even more intense. “Like, I think there’s just something about all of it that people normally _get,_ and I just don’t. I don’t get crushes on people and I don’t want to date and I don’t really want to get married either, not with boys or girls or anyone.”

You put a hesitant hand around his shoulder. “I mean, dude, if that’s how you feel, uh—I mean. That’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Even if it means not with you either, you just want him to be happy.

“But it’s not normal, right? People fall in love and stuff. Rose and Kanaya like each other so much, and—you’ve dated, too.”

“Well, yeah. But just because a lot of people do it doesn’t make it normal. Shit, bro, the majority of people in the Earth we used to live on loved Betty Crocker cake, and you were never into it, and that was always fine, right?”

“That’s different. It feels like I’m missing—some basic human emotion.” He curls a bit closer to you, into your side, and you forget how to breathe a bit. “Like, I loved my Dad and I love all of my friends but—I just can’t even conceptualize what loving somebody romantically would be like. Isn’t that wrong?”

You rub his arm a bit in an attempt to be comforting. “It’s not wrong. It’s just who you are. Nothing you are could be wrong.” Something occurs to you. “Have you ever heard of, like, aromanticism and asexuality?”

“Like plants?”

“Nah. Like—being aromantic means you don’t feel romantic attraction to people, and asexuality means you don’t feel sexual attraction to people. Maybe you’re something like that.”

“That’s an actual thing?” He’s peeking up at you, and it’s only now that you notice he was crying a bit.

“Yeah, and it comes in shades, too. Like—some people identify as demi-whatever, demiromantic or sexual, and that means, like…I guess different things to different people, but sort of like that you only start feeling attraction for people you know really well. I can send some shit to your computer from when I was looking this stuff up when I was younger. I’m not really an expert.” 

You’re surprised when he launches forward to hug you. It’s sort of awkward from the side, but you hug him back as best you can. “Whoa, man, what—”

“I’m really glad you’re my friend,” he says, muffled by your shirt. “You’re the best.” 

“I—yeah, I know,” you say, flustered, and you hear him snort, still muffled. “But. Yeah. Same.”

You send him aforementioned shit, and he concludes he probably is aromantic and asexual, and you resolve even harder to not let him know about your feelings. You should really just try to get over them already.

 

* * *

  

You are eighteen years old, and you’re not over John, but you are worried about him.

He’s been withdrawing from social activities, increasingly so. He spends almost all his time in his old house. He’ll come out for special occasions if dragged, but most of the time people don’t see him.

You still talk regularly, of course, mostly over Pesterchum. It’s not the same, though. He hasn’t sent any pictures of himself to the group chat, either. It’s always just pictures of his house or the movie he’s watching.

You get to his house and bang on the door. “Egbert, if you don’t open up, I’m destroying your door,” you say loudly, and eventually the door opens. He refuses to meet your eyes. 

“Shit. John, you look awful.”

He does. He’s thinner than usual, a bit paler, like he hasn’t gone outside for months. You suppose that might be true. He has black circles under his eyes, and you don’t think he’s showered in a few days.

“Dave, I don’t really want company,” he says in a quiet voice, and you narrow your eyes at him and walk in anyway, shutting the door behind yourself. You hear a little resigned sigh and turn on your heel to face him.

“Have you eaten?”

He isn’t even surprised at the sudden question. He isn’t looking at you still. “Sure.” Damn. You didn’t ask a specific enough question. You think, then revise.

“A reasonable amount in the past six hours?”

“Well—” 

“I’ll make you something. Get in the shower and change into new clothes.”

“Dave.”

“Not a suggestion. If my best friend isn’t going to take care of himself, I’m going to make him do it.” You point in the direction of his shower. “Shower. Clothes. You have clean clothes?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, trudging upstairs and looking surprisingly small.

You look in his fridge and massage your forehead upon finding that there’s nothing in it apart from a few condiments. It’s easy enough to get a hold of prepared food through some devices that Jake and Jade have been working on, but you know John isn’t a fan of replicated stuff, which probably means he just hasn’t been eating. You message Rose, a bit more terse than usual, asking her to send some ingredients through one of the window-portals you know John has set up somewhere. To her credit and your immense relief, she doesn’t ask questions (now), just promises to get a bag together and then does a few minutes later.

You collect the ingredients and start prepping something. Nothing fancy, you’re not the best cook, but you can put shit together if need be. Plus, you know what John’s favorites are, and they’re not too complicated.

You see him in the corner of your eyes, standing at the door to the kitchen and looking wet and lost.

“Almost done,” you say, voice still tight and controlled, because you don’t want him knowing you’re fucking devastated by this. God, you should have come sooner. The second he said you didn’t need to come you should have come anyway. _Fuck._

“Dave—”

“Talking later. Eating first.” You nod towards the kitchen table. “Glass of strawberry milk is there. I got some of that shitty Nesquik powder you’re so into, so you can mix yourself more when you run out of that cup.” (Thank God for captchalogues, frankly. You were able to get a lot of food from old-Earth by captchaloguing it. It was one of Jade’s projects while she was alone on the ship.)

He just nods and sits down, starting to sip halfheartedly at the milk. You finish your little cooking project and put two egg-in-a-breads each on two plates, then sit across from him at the table, handing him a knife and fork.

“Eat the whole thing,” you say shortly and start eating your own. You’re very pointedly looking down at your plate, which is why you don’t notice immediately that he’s crying—completely silent, just tears streaming down his face and slowly dripping onto the table when they reach his chin.

“Shit,” you swear when you hear the first drop, then look up to see him. “Egbert, are you—” The ‘all right’ sticks in your throat. You know he’s not. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to cry.”

“You’re mad,” he says, sounding miserable and teary, and you curse yourself.

“Not at _you,_ ” you say weakly, then get up to get a paper towel for him to dry his tears. “God, John. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself for not coming sooner.”

“What?” He laughs through his tears. “I’m the one who did this to me, jeez.”

“I should have come,” you repeat stubbornly. “I knew something was up.”

“Yeah,” he says, quiet again. “I’m not good at hiding from you.” He buries his face in the paper towel, and you let him for a while.

Eventually, you say, “But keep eating. Cold eggs is bad eggs, as the great Michelangelo once said.”

He giggles wetly, still behind the paper towel. “Never knew he had such strong egg feelings.”

“The loss of his years of egg art was one of the most troubling results of the fire in the Library of Alexandria,” you say, and he finally puts the paper towel down.

“Your history is incredibly suspect.” He’s quiet a moment. “But your eggs are good.” And with that, he starts eating again.

You wait for him to finish before putting the dishes in the sink—rinse later—and then herding him into the living room to sit down. He huffs, then puts his head in your lap. Which is totally chill and a-ok with you to do as friends with your friend, who has always been incredibly friendly to you, so it’s all fine and dandy, really. You cough and look away. “So, uh. What exactly is up?” 

“Wow, Dave, no boner innuendo? I’m impressed.”

You look back down, raising an eyebrow. 

“Fine.” He sighs, putting his hands on his chest and closing his eyes. “Do you ever feel, like—just. Detached? From everything?”

“Frequently.” His eyes fly open at that, and you shrug. “It’s not really a secret that I have a problem with depression and dissociation and shit. Keep going.”

“Right. Um. Well…I guess basically I chose to put my house here because I wanted to be able to work through my shit without being bothered, and I chose to live in this house because I wanted…to remember my dad, really. Jane’s dad is here, but he doesn’t remember raising me. He doesn’t remember me in the same way I remember him. He’s great, but he’s not my dad, because my dad is dead. And I miss him a lot.” He’s quiet again. “You know, I never got…to talk to him once the game started? I never got to tell him that I was sorry for being a dick about the clown stuff all those years when he just was trying to relate to me, and I never got to say thank you for caring for me so much all those years, and I never…got to say I loved him, or…” He’s crying once more, now, and you falter before deciding it wouldn’t be too weird in this situation to pet his hair. “I never got to say goodbye, even. And it sort of felt like I had to be here trying to live the life he gave me to make up for all of that.”

You nod, making a mental note to tell him that’s bullshit. But not until he’s done getting everything out.

“But living on my own so far away from everybody is also kind of…I don’t know. Like, you all have managed to find a place here. You’re all doing stuff that matters and is important, but even more than that—you have a place. You have a life here. And I’m just kind of…stuck in this weird pseudo-recreation of my old one. And it makes it feel kind of sometimes like I don’t belong here at all.”

Your hand stills for a moment as you clench your teeth, but you remind yourself that you’re saving commentary for the end. No use in scaring him off from revelation time while he’s in the zone just because his brain is pissing you off.

“And it just makes me start wondering things. Like—like if—it would even matter that much if I just stopped existing here.”

Your breath catches, and the hand that isn’t petting John balls up at your side. You hope he doesn’t notice.

“And like, part of me knows that’s dumb? I know that—we fought all along for this and it would be—really stupid to just give up here. And I know that people would miss me if I. You know, weren’t around. Like—I know I have friends.” He gives this smile that’s one part timid and two parts sad, and you concentrate on hating yourself even harder for not being here sooner. “But people get over sad things eventually.”

You think you’re probably failing not to look angry by now, so you stare really hard at the fireplace instead. 

“And I don’t even know if I could—do it, but—it just makes it hard to get up the energy to take care of myself when I don’t really want to. And every time I see you guys in group chats or whatever, and your lives are all just happening, it just sort of reminds me that you guys get by just fine when I’m not around, which makes me even more sad, so that’s…uh, ultimately that’s…what’s up. With me not talking much and also staying out here.”

“You got any more stuff to get off your chest?” you say in a voice that is probably not at all even. You will pretend it is, though, for your own personal sense of pride.

“I think that’s most of it?” John says, sounding unsure.

“Right.” You unclench your fingers, then clench them again until you can feel your trimmed fingernails digging into your palm. “So it sounds like you know this a bit already, but you’re full of shit.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it. 

“Or,” you amend, “whatever depression voice in your brain that is telling you that shit is full of shit. Like—dude, like I said, I get some of this, but—okay. Let’s take it from the top. Point one: whatever life you’re living is the one your dad gave you. Like, do you think he expected you to live forever in his house with the same collection of shitty movies and with your same bedspread and decorations and shit? Like, he would have expected you to grow up and—do whatever with your life, I don’t know, and move out and do your own thing and come back and visit? He didn’t just give you a deathtrap Slimer pogo and an aversion to boxed cakes. He gave you the start of a life, and it was great, and he gave you the skills you needed to succeed from that point and you developed a few on your own, and whatever you make with that is what he gave you. Fuck, man. I know that losing him has been rough on you and it doesn’t have to stop being hard, but I highly doubt his dream for your future included you living in a morbid-ass time capsule as a form of penitence for a death that you didn’t cause and couldn’t predict.”

His lip is wobbling, and you exhale. “I’m sorry if any of this shit makes you cry more, or if I get a bit harsh. But I can’t just—listen to all this shit you’re saying about yourself and just—not say anything. Bear with it, okay? And then you can kick me out or whatever if you want, but. Just hear me out first.” 

He gives a minute nod, and you think back again to what he said, trying to keep your jumbled thoughts coherent.

“Point two. You already have a place here. It’s not something you have to earn. Like—for fuck’s sake, John, just because you’re not a baby troll babysitter or an architect or a flashy science dude or—whatever the fuck else, that doesn’t mean that you don’t have the right to exist. People don’t get that card by doing something, they get it by being someone.” You poke him in the forehead. “By being you, dumbass. You have a place here and a life here because you’re you. If you wanna pick up some extra hobbies or an extracurricular or whatever, then you totally can do that and I can help you or—Rose or whoever else, I don’t know, but none of that will have to do with justifying you being a living person in this place. You did that the second you walked through the door. Hell, you did that the second you were born from nasty green primordial ooze. You’re John motherfucking Egbert, and nobody can be more John Egbert than you. _That’s_ why you stick around, not because you win a fuckin’ Nobel Peace Prize that this planet doesn’t even…have, I think.”

He gives another tiny nod.

“Point three.” You can’t stop your voice from getting overly emotional here. “If you think for even a _second_ I would _ever_ get over you—you not being around—I.” Oh, fuck, you’re welling up too. “Well, I already said it. You’re full of shit. Losing you wouldn’t just be a _sad thing_ , like some fuckin’—oh, damn, they messed up my sandwich order and I was really looking forward to it—losing you would _wreck_ me.” You take a shaky breath and swipe at your eyes, which are of course blocked by sunglasses. Oh well. He’s seen your eyes before. You take off your sunglasses and put them on a side table, then swipe at the tears again. “All of us, but if you need a more concrete example, or—whatever. Then me in particular.”

He’s shaking now with tiny sobs, and you’re aware of how ridiculous this position is for this current situation. Two dumbasses getting tears all over each others’ clothes. God. “Like…God. You’re fucked up over your dad dying still, right? And, like—even someday when you manage to get yourself out of this slump, like—it still won’t be the same, right? That, but for you. I can’t—even imagine not having you around. I don’t _want_ to imagine that. That sounds like the shittiest way of living possible.” The tears don’t stop, which is dumb, so you wipe at them with your elbow this time. “I care about you so much, dude.” (An understatement.) “And I know that living is a ball of crap, and—it’s selfish, maybe, to say ‘you should live because I want you to be alive’, but if that doesn’t work for you, then—I don’t know. Live because food tastes good sometimes. Live because there’s a movie you want to see you haven’t seen yet. Live because you don’t want your friends to see your dirty-ass room when they find you, I don’t fuckin’ care, as long as it ends up with you being here still so that I can talk to you and—we can work things out and—and, fuck, I don’t know. Just be here. Please?”

He’s openly weeping when he does some weird maneuver to get himself more upright and give you an awkwardly-positioned hug, but you don’t mind that he’s crying because that would be hypocritical and you don’t mind that the hug is awkward because it’s with him. You squeeze him back hard and crane your neck until you’re sort of tucked into his shoulder. His shirt is getting all wet and probably also snotty. It’s fine. He has other shirts if he needs them.

“I’m sorry,” he’s mumbling repeatedly into your shirt, “I’m so sorry,” and you hug him even tighter.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Just—here.”

He moves his head in something that might be a nod or maybe a nuzzle, and you start petting his head again, and you don’t think about kissing his hair at all. Or—well. You think about it fewer than fifteen times, which you think is still pretty impressive. 

Eventually he draws back, face red and blotchy and still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and he says, “Lie down?”

“Uh—what?”

“On the couch. I want to snuggle.”

Oh, god. You make something sort of like a smile or potentially a look of existential horror and scoot until you’re sort of lying down on the couch. He lies down again also, facing you, then drapes an arm over you in a kind of loose hug.

 _Friends, friends, friends,_ you chant to yourself frantically, _super friendly friends, you are not allowed to kiss him or his forehead or any other part of his person, just super fucking friendly friends._

“So, um,” you say, and if your voice cracks you can just blame it on new-Earth second puberty or something. “I know this shit is hard to deal with, and—like, just ‘cause we’re having this whole feelings jam doesn’t mean you have to be over dealing with it. But—can you talk to somebody about it when you get to feeling like this in the future? Me, or—somebody else if you want? I just…don’t want you all alone here thinkin’ you don’t matter.”

“Yeah, I can do that, I think,” he says, and you relax slightly.

“Good. Cool. Call me over whenever, okay? Otherwise I’ll come over anyway, but it’d feel nicer to have the invitation. You know. So I’m not just traipsing in and ruining the wedding like a vintage Panic at the Disco song.”

He doesn’t respond to that, not directly. Instead he smiles at you, small but genuine, and takes your hand from where it’s resting on your hip. “Dave,” he says, looking at you straight in the eyes. Fuck you wish you were wearing your shades. “You know I love you, right?”

It’s not the first time he’s expressed that completely platonic sentiment to you or to others, so it’s not the first time you’ve felt like you’re being stabbed through the heart. This time is just particularly brutal. “Yeah, bro. Love you too.”

 

* * *

 

You are nineteen years old, and you’ve started to reconcile yourself to loving John just being a fact of your existence. Hello I’m Dave I’m nineteen I wear sunglasses all the time and like apple juice and I love John. You tell yourself that it’s unlikely to be the sort of thing that gets in the way of you having another meaningful relationship someday. It is a bit hard to believe. 

But you love him, and you don’t really think you’re going to stop. So.

You’ve been dragging John out regularly when he feels up to it for a while now. He still has a bit of a hard time with big gatherings, but you’re not a huge fan of those either, so you keep yourselves occupied in other ways—movie showings, concerts, exploring, just stuff to get him acclimated to this world. The blend of humans, trolls, and Carapacians has resulted in an eclectic culture that is somewhere between charming and hilarious. It’s fun to riff on it, and it helps John relax a bit about his not-fitting-in thing. And you just like being with him, so. _So._

You’re on one such expedition, hiking up to the top of a mountain somewhere to get a better view of an emerging city. You could probably both fly, but John likes pretending sometimes that you’re not weird mutant humans. You don’t blame him.

When the clearing at the top of the mountain is just up ahead, John runs the last few feet and pumps one arm straight in the air before collapsing to the ground. You roll your eyes and continue at a normal pace.

“Does The Breakfast Club end with the guy dying? I don’t remember that part,” you say dryly, setting your pack down and kicking John lightly with your foot to get him to do the same.

“Shut up. I’m too busy being dead to respond to your nice movie reference.” He flops around a bit to get the pack off, which looks incredibly silly and also incredibly adorable. 

“How about you be dead on this blanket or something. I’ve been meaning to christen it.” 

“With dead people?” He rolls over slightly to give you an exaggerated suspicious gaze.

“What else would you christen a blanket with? Like, dude, it’s literally in the name. Christen. If you’re making something like Christ then obviously the only way to do that is to murder a rebel on or with the object and start a religion about it.”

“So that makes me James Dean here,” John says, waggling his eyebrows.

“They crucified him? I’m learning so much about your weird murder-y revisionist history today—”

He makes a face at you as you set down the blanket and then rolls over onto it. “It was a Rebel Without A Cause reference.”

“I caught that.” You smile lazily down at him. “I just also don’t care.”

“Rude.” He flops over once more to lie on his stomach on the blanket, sighing, then pops up like he was never tired in the first place. “So I hear this place has a kick-ass view.”

“From which suave gentleman did you hear that?” You plod over to the viewing area with him.

“I think that’s literally the first time in the history of ever that Karkat has been accused of that.” 

You poke him forcefully. “You heard about it from me, dickface.”

He turns around to grin happily at you. “I caught that, I just also don’t care.” 

“Revenge, straight out of the world’s lamest freezer.” You’re smiling though. “It is a cool view.”

“Yeah.” The city is in the process of development, which is interesting, but it’s situated in a valley that might best be described as ‘picturesque’. John is looking out at it, face soft and pleased, and you think, _I only need this._

After a while, you tire of looking at it and go back over to the blanket. John had been in charge of food, so he unloads that from his pack; you were in charge of equipment and drinks, so you get out some camping pillows and a thermos of hot chocolate. (You’d captchalogued a heating device to warm it back up. You both wanted to keep this reasonably free from gaming abstractions, but lugging a heavy device up here didn’t make much sense either.) John passes you a napkin and then a few sandwiches, then holds a half-sandwich up of his own in the air between you. 

“It’s so goddamn stupid to clink food,” you mutter, but tap your sandwich against his anyway.

“And yet you always do it. What does that make you?”

“Oh, I _know_ I’m goddamn stupid.” You exchange conversation over food, heat up the hot chocolate and drink it, then lie down on the camping pillows next to each other on the blanket.

John gets a bit quiet at some point in the continuing conversation, and you look over at him to make sure he’s doing all right. He doesn’t look sad, just thoughtful.

“Dave, have you ever been in love?”

You are very glad you’re not drinking something right now. As it is, you suck in a sharp breath, but stay otherwise physically unaffected. “Yeah,” you say eventually. He knows you dated other people. He’ll probably think you mean them. 

“Sometimes I wish I could be.” He’s staring up at the sky; the sun’s not overhead so it’s fine, you suppose. “Like—some of the time I think about dating and I’m like, I have no idea how I’d be comfortable letting somebody into my personal space all the time like that, or them expecting me to go out with them and me being okay with that.”

You stare at him, shades mercifully on, and hope your eyebrows don’t communicate, “John, you’re a dumbass.” Even though that’s what you’re thinking. Does it seriously not occur to him that he’s fine with that with you? Not too far a stretch to bring that party to other people, as much as the thought makes your heart thud dully in your chest. You push that far to the back of your mind and continue listening. 

“But other times I think it’d be really nice to…have that from someone. And be able to give it to someone.” He’s quiet again. “When you sent me that stuff about being aromantic, they mentioned, like—queerplatonic partners, where you had a super maxed out best friend or something, and they said some people have those and still kiss them or whatever. Sometimes I think that would be kind of nice.”

Oh my God _._  

“But they’d have to be aromantic too, right? Because—it sort of feels otherwise like it would be really sad if they loved you in a romantic way and you just loved them—” His mouth twists, but you are mostly just focusing on _what a dumbass, what a dumbass, what a dumbass._ If you didn’t know him better you’d think he had some kind of agenda here, but you do know him. Which is why you know he’s a dumbass. “Well, like, not that? And it freaks me out thinking about how somebody could want something from me and I wouldn’t be able to give them what they wanted.” 

Oh my fucking God. “You’re such a dumbass,” you say, and it takes you a second to realize you said it out loud. Oh, fuck. Now you need some kind of followup. “Uh—like, if you’re clear about that shit up front and every party agrees to it, then isn’t that more important? And—anyway, you seem to get really hung up on, like, ‘loving someone the right way’ or whatever. If you’re loving them the best way you know how, and you both treat each other well and nobody has problems with that, like—isn’t that way more important than whether it’s the ‘right’ kind of love or not? Who even says what’s right, anyway?” You huff. “And you’re even kissing them and shit, too. Like. It just so doesn’t matter.” 

John’s gaze is even more thoughtful now. “Yeah, you’re right, I think.” He sighs, turning over to you slightly. “I don’t know. I guess it’s a moot point. I can’t really imagine someone being more important to me than—” His cheeks flush a bit, and you are transfixed, which sucks because you’d _really_ like to not be looking at him right now. “Well…you, I guess.”

Oh. My. Fucking. _God._ You manage a strangled, “Yuh-huh,” then tear your eyes away to look up at the sky also. This is literal torture. You’re in John Guantanamo right now. 

He seems to sense that you’re uncomfortable and changes the subject. Probably thinks you’re antsy about him expressing genuine sentiment or something, bless his dumb, dumb heart. “So your birthday is in a month.” 

“Sure is.”

“Is there going to be a triple party again?”

“Sort of. There’s that big Creator parade they always do and I think a lot of people are showing up for that, but Rose and Kanaya wanted to do something special this year so they’re gonna stay doing their own thing and so Jade decided to just throw her own party too. I think our friends are mostly going to that.”

“What about for your birthday?”

You shrug. “I’m going to Jade’s thing. Don’t really have any plans for the actual day of.”

“ _What_ ,” John says, suddenly loud with what seems like actual distress. “No! It’s your twentieth birthday, Dave! You can’t just do nothing!”

You shrug again, even though he’s not watching. “It’s not really a big deal.”

“It so is! Okay, uh—we can do something together, then. You’re always forcing me out on cool expeditions, right? So I’ll say we’re doing something and—you don’t get to say no.” He sticks to that for about two seconds before adding, embarrassed, “Unless you really want to in which case you can.”

“I’d never say no to my best bro,” you say, because it’s true. Unfortunately. “Do you have anything in mind or do you just want, like, a general Strider ass pass?”

“I’ll think of something! And it’ll be awesome. Best birthday ever, promise.”

You don’t tell him that any birthday spent with him is probably that without any effort on his part, but it is also, unfortunately, true.

But not something he needs to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was actually all written as one huge clump so weird chapter ends are due to that probably
> 
> lol they're all so ooc but i don't even give a shit anymore. it's 1AM. Dance Puppets Dance. 
> 
> the whole depression section prob seems wildly out of place but i vent freely and without concern for whether it is appropriate. and my science? my integration with canon? god this whole fucking thing is a mess. see above. dance!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is all so incredibly preposterous.
> 
> anyway, sudden john pov switch! it's only temporary! but i still use! way too many fucking exclamation marks.

You are nineteen years old, and you’ve been thinking a lot about what your best bro Dave Strider talked to you about when you were on that hike together. 

You think a lot about the stuff he says, really, and also him in general, which is relevant to what you’re thinking about. That comes later though!

First point: you think you’re okay with the idea of having a best friend around all the time and being their most important person and you being theirs. Especially if they knew you well enough to be respectful of when you needed personal space, and vice versa. So there’s that out of the way. 

Second point: you’ve never really properly kissed someone before, but you think with this hypothetical figure you’d probably be okay with kissing them if they were okay with it too. Requires further investigation, but the idea doesn’t really disgust you anymore like it used to, so you think that’s a good sign for this point? Set aside for now. 

Third point: you don’t really think you’d mind about the gender of this friend. You have really good guy friends after all! Like Dave! Which still comes later, but the point is, you’ve spent long enough wishing you could love someone of _any_ gender that you don’t really think it bothers you to think that they could be not a girl. Okay. Also out of the way.

Fourth point: what Dave brought up. If this really good friend is your most important person and you love them as best you can and you’re willing to kiss them and—maybe even have sex with them if they’re into that? Hard set aside for now, because that no longer disgusts you but you still don’t really get it—anyway, if you’re willing to do all this stuff with them and hold their hand and snuggle and live together and just sort of love each other, does it really matter that much if you called them your boyfriend or girlfriend or partner or whatever else? Like, there aren’t any laws against that, right? And if you’re upfront about things, like, you’re probably not going to hurt them by admitting you don’t really know how relationships work outside of movies, and if they agree to that then they know, right? It still bothers you that this is something that other people seem to instinctively get and do not need to make flow charts about, but Dave is right, you think. It’s kind of silly to get worked up about whether you’re loving somebody in the right way or not, because that’s something that the other person probably can talk to you about, and then you can work with them to get to a point you’re both comfortable with. So. Sort of out of the way. You think you could have a romantic partner if you don’t get too worked up about terminology.

Fifth point. And this is the one that you’ve been struggling with. It wasn’t even on your flow chart, originally! Fifth point is, whenever you think about this super best friend slash boyfriend slash whatever, you think about Dave. 

It’s been three weeks since that hike, and while the thought was originally surprising and honestly kind of made you freak out, you’ve decided to seriously consider it. Do you have a crush on Dave? Or could you? (You’ve made an additional sub-chart dedicated to this point, because it seems really important.)

Okay. So, like, you know he’s attractive. You’ve always known that, duh! He’s got the nicest blonde hair and this super wonderful soft skin and some freckles he hates talking about, and his eyes are beautiful. And his hands are great because they’re also soft except for where he has calluses from doing sword shit. But he’s been doing that less, which makes you pretty happy. And they feel really nice whenever you hold them! And whenever you do it his cheeks get kind of pink, which you guess is probably because he isn’t too used to touching people, and that makes him look even cuter. So yes, that’s not a problem. You tend to think most people are cute anyway, but Dave is especially cute in your opinion!

Next item up for consideration: doing boyfriend stuff with him. As established, you like holding his hand. And he gives the best cuddles, so that’s also a good thing. You really like spending time with him, and he makes you feel comfortable, and he’s always really careful about only forcing you to do it when you actually feel up to it. So dates would probably be okay. That’s a plus. And—kissing. You feel your face get a little bit hot. Hm. Okay. You still don’t really know what actual kisses are like, so you can’t say anything conclusively, but—like, hypothetically, it’s not…an awful thought.

It’s actually kind of a really good thought. So.

Potential plus. You make a note.

Let’s not think about that anymore though, ‘cause it makes you feel flustered. Next up is—emotional shit. Dave is really good about helping you when you need it, and you really like helping him when he lets you too! And you think that’s an important part of a relationship, so that would be good. And whenever he compliments you or says you’re important to him or comes over when you didn’t even ask or, like, whenever you see him really, your heart kind of starts beating faster and you just get really happy? He just makes you really happy. And you’d like if you made him happy too.

You draw lines from those boxes down to the bottom of the sheet of paper for a conclusion, then give a definitive nod. Basically, you think you’d be willing to be in a relationship that is different than normal friendship with him. And you don’t feel that way about anybody else, even a little, really. Jade and Rose and everybody else are really great friends, but not like Dave is. So that’s—like a crush, right? You still don’t know if you really get what crushes are, even, but if you’re willing to be in a relationship with someone, you think that’s probably the closest you can get conceptually. You love Dave already. You’ve always loved him, honestly! And you don’t know exactly if it’s, like—exactly the same as the romantic stuff in the movies, but you do love him as best as you can. So that means something, you think.

You write in block letters below the arrows, I HAVE A CRUSH ON DAVE, then survey the letters. They don’t make you feel as uncomfortable as you thought they might. It kind of just feels like, oh, okay. Yeah. That makes sense.

You circle it idly, because you always circle the result of your work, and cap the pen to think. So. If you have a crush on Dave.

…If you have a crush on Dave.

Well, obviously if you have a crush on him that doesn’t mean he feels the same way at all. You would never expect someone to reciprocate your intentions without knowing first what they think about it. Seems kind of rude to you, honestly! You prefer not to make assumptions about other people if you can help it. And honestly there’s probably a good chance he doesn’t like you back.

That said, you don’t like not telling people things. You’re good enough friends that you’ll be fine even if he says he doesn’t like you, and anyway, it’s just your feelings. You can’t help having feelings. So you’ll tell him, and just say it’s fine if he doesn’t like you and you’ll keep on being friends, and then you can get over your crush knowing he doesn’t feel the same way, and you’ll be a bit sad but you’ll manage! Because the most important thing is him being your friend, anyway. The kissing and dating stuff would just be extra additional bonuses! 

The question then becomes when you tell him. You’ve never been a really patient person, so you don’t want to wait too long, but if you do it before his birthday then maybe he’d feel a bit awkward for a few days and you wouldn’t get to do your cool birthday plan. And you can’t do it on the day of, in case he feels bad and—well, okay, you’re getting ahead of yourself, but theoretically speaking if he _did_ feel the same way then your anniversary would be his birthday and then he’d get fewer presents which is just mean—okay. Yeah. Seriously getting ahead of yourself.

The day after though. That could be fine. It’s Rose’s birthday, which is also a bit rude maybe, but you don’t think she’d mind. If you asked her she’d probably just interrogate you about your Dave feelings and then tell you that her birthday doesn’t inherently preclude you from doing other things, or something. 

Okay. Yes. This can work.

It’s a bit later, on Jade’s birthday, and Dave convinces you to attend by telling you you can leave together whenever you want. It’s a lot of people, which is still a bit rough for you, but if you stick to talking with only a few people at a time it’s okay, and Dave helps you out whenever you start getting too squirrelly, which is nice because you know he’s not big on crowds either.

You hand Jade her birthday present, which is twenty of the best new movies you’ve seen and also a cool shirt you found. “Happy birthday! Figured it’d be a bit less lame than candles,” you say with a grin. 

“Marginally,” Dave says next to you, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Be nice, Dave! Thanks, John. I’m glad to see you here!” You know what she means by that. Dave had clued Rose and Jade in on your whole…situation.

“I’m glad to see you! It’s been a while.” Which is mostly your fault, but you know she doesn’t blame you, either. 

“I think we’ll be seeing each other pretty soon, too, though,” she says, pitching her voice at a whisper. “I think Rose is proposing to Kanaya on her birthday.”

“Holy shit, really? I hope so! They’re such a good couple!”

“That would definitely be a very Rose thing to do,” Dave notes dryly. “Good for her, though. About time she got off her ass.”

“The amount of times I’ve caught you discussing my ass is both mildly disconcerting and not at all a surprise,” you hear a cool voice come from the side. Rose is watching you all, slightly amused. “Don’t you have anything better to do than gossip?”

“No,” Dave says. “Is it true?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you, or something suitably threatening.”

“So yes.” Dave holds his hand out for a fistbump. “Congrats.”

She returns it, but now she’s smiling properly. “She hasn’t said yes yet.”

“She will,” you pipe in. “I’m pretty sure.”

“I certainly hope. Nice to see you, John.”

“Thanks! And, uh, good luck? Or whatever you say. And happy almost birthday also.”

“Thank you. Can I borrow Dave for a few moments?”

Dave raises his eyebrow at her. “Not if you didn’t bring your library card.”

“I did, actually.” She doesn’t show it, though, just links arms with Dave and leads him away somewhere.

You’re left with Jade, who says after a few moments, “So, Dave, huh.”

You blink at her. “What about him?”

“You showed up with him. You spend all your time with him.” She gives you a few eyebrow waggles. “You look at him longingly when he leaves the room.”

You laugh, scratching your neck awkwardly. “Um…well, we’re not dating, if that’s what you mean. But—don’t tell anybody else?”

She inhales excitedly. “I won’t. Spill!”

“I did conclude recently that I think I probably—really like him?”

“Holy _shit,_ ” she squeals, and drags you to a couch somewhere. “Oh my God. Really? Are you serious?”

You fidget nervously. “Yeah? I think. I still have a hard time telling, but—uh, I made a flow chart—”

“Oh my _God,_ " she says, sounding delighted. “You’re going to tell him, right?”

“Yeah, uh—I mean, we’re spending his birthday together, but I don’t want to tell him until it’s over in case it sort of wrecks his day, so I figured, like—midnight.” You’re blushing now. “But I don’t really see the point in not telling him. He’ll be nice about it.” 

She looks like she wants to say something, but with what appears to be a tremendous amount of difficulty, she says, “I definitely don’t think you’re going to wreck his day.”

You scratch your neck again. “Yeah, I mean, I really hope not.”

“ _Definitely_ not,” she says with an emphatic nod. 

You can only hope that her optimism isn’t baseless. Even if it’s not his birthday, you’d hate to make him feel bad about any of this. 

When the day of his birthday comes, you let him sleep in until eleven before you let yourself into his apartment and start singing the happy birthday song at the top of your lungs.

He trudges into the living room, looking sleepy and adorable and amused. And he’s only in boxers and a tank top, which you’re not thinking about, even if he has nice legs. And arms. You grin as you see him, then run forward to hug him.

“Happy birthday, Dave!”

“Sort of got that sentiment from your off-Broadway rendition, but thanks, dude.” He ruffles your hair a bit. “You got the whole day planned out or what?”

“Duh. Best birthday ever, remember? Get into some clothes you don’t mind getting dirty. And get a change of your favorite clothes in a bag or something and pajamas. Something comfy. I should have everything else covered.” 

“Bossy,” he says, but he’s already turning around to do as you ask.

You wait until he gets changed and ready, then hand him his present. “Okay,” you say as soon as he’s opened the box, “This is super dweeby and not ironic at all, so sorry for that. But I think if you want shit you probably mostly just get it, so I thought I’d go the more—sentimental route, you know.” You kick at the ground, biting your lip. You made him something like a scrapbook, with the log from the day you met, then the first pictures you started sending each other, and more logs with fun inside jokes and then eventually pictures of the two of you together. You also annotated the whole thing with dumb commentary about what you were thinking when you said something, or weird facts you were reminded of when you read things, or whatever else struck your fancy. “It’s been ten years since we met, almost exactly, and. Yeah. It’s a weird birthday present, I guess, but I just wanted to say, like—I’m really grateful you were born, and that I met you, and that we’re friends. I’m really grateful for you. I don’t know where I’d be without you, but, um—I don’t think I’d like it.” 

You’re not looking at him on purpose because you’re embarrassed, so you don’t notice him lunging forward to gather you in an even tighter hug than you had delivered earlier. “John,” he says, sounding a bit choked up, “This is super dweeby and cheesy and really fucking ridiculous and I—love it. A lot. You’re great, and—I’m so glad I know you too.”

You wrap your arms back around him and stroke his back, smiling into his shoulder. “You’re going to ruin your makeup right before the big debutante ball, Dave!”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and hugs you harder. “I’ll still be the hottest one there.”

“That’s true,” you say, and hope it doesn’t give you away. “Anyway, you can read it later! We have a bit of a schedule.” 

“Oh boy,” he says, but he finally lets you go, still wiping at his eyes ineffectually. You get him a Kleenex from your pocket. “Do you just—fucking always keep Kleenex in your pocket?” 

“Better to be prepared,” you say sagely. “You need a few minutes?”

“Fuck you,” he says, then, “Yes.”

Your first stop is to a park you discovered in a climate that’s still warm this time of year and then modified slightly. Just temporarily. Dave raises his eyes at you, and you check your phone for the first note you made. In your most dramatic, Dave-y voice, you proclaim, “There aren’t any good parks in Texas. Grass in this city is a primo item, sort of like my ass except greener, because I’ve never been green in my life. Because I am so skilled.” Then you add, switching to a bad rendition of your pre-adolescent voice, “When you visit you can come to a park and we’ll swing together! And also go on the plastic dinosaur slide, because that is a non-negotiable park experience.”

Understanding dawns on his face. “I was ten.” He’s starting to smile, though, so you know he’s not mad or anything.

“What, have you become too chickenshit to swing in the ten years since?”

“That’s your angle? Really? On my birthday?”

“Totally.” You push him towards one of the swings. “I got Jade to make it a bit bigger just for today, because most swings are admittedly not sized for twenty-year-olds. She also provided the dinosaur slides.”

“Dork,” he says, but his tone is affectionate as he sits down on the swing.

“You pump your legs back and forth like this to get momentum,” you explain, starting to go higher and higher. He nods and starts swinging until you’re swinging in the opposite direction.

“I remember this thing the kids used to do on the playground,” you say thoughtfully. “When you’re swinging in the opposite direction like this, you’re divorced.” You stop, then time it so that you’re swinging at almost the same time as Dave. “And then when it’s almost together like this, you’re dating, and—” You finally get the timing and height right, so you’re swinging side by side in perfect sync. “Then when it’s like this, you’re married!”

“That’s so dumb,” he says, voice oddly distant, before he clears his throat. “You didn’t even help me pick out a dress.” 

“Oh, you know how my work schedule is, honey,” you say absentmindedly, then time it so that you fly off the swings at its highest point. You let the wind take you down softly, then sit on the ground, laughing. “Man, I used to skin my knees doing this all the time as a kid. I’d just slam onto the woodchips like I got bodyslammed by some champion wrestler and then I’d have splinters in my knee and I wailed about it so much.”

Dave gets off the swings in a similar way, but he bodyrolls to reduce the impact. You know he can fly, so he’s probably just being silly. “All right. I’ve experienced the swings.”

“Congratulations! There’s a dinosaur slide over there that’s calling your name.”

Jade hadn’t made this one bigger, probably just to troll the both of you, so Dave gets on with a dry expression and showcases how his legs reach the bottom. 

“You’re going to have to scooch,” you say, faux serious. “Otherwise you won’t get the experience and we can never leave this place.”

He sighs and scooches down the slide. You cheer. “Hell yes! Not bad for a first time.”

“I’m not sure if he was a gentle lover so much as an entirely underwhelming one,” he says, patting the bottom of the slide. You shrug, then take your own turn on the slide, which is indeed really silly at this size.

“Okay, so—hang on.” You get out your phone and switch to your pre-pubescent John voice. “Today there was this big neighborhood party and we got pieces of cardboard and used them to slide down the grass and it was really fun but then I fell off the cardboard and skidded on the grass and it stained my khakis and now everybody is calling me Grassbutt.”

Dave snorts, hiding a smile behind his hand. You hold up your own hand to indicate there’s more.

“It was awesome and we totally have to do it together.” You point at a nearby hill. “So we’re doing it, man. I daresay we may even be making this happen.”

“You just want me to join the Grassbutt clan,” he accuses.

“Totally.” 

“So you can stare at my ass, probably, and then pretend the reason why was because oh ha-ha you have a stain there.”

“Why would I lie about the reason I was staring at your ass?” You grin wickedly at him. “Race you there.”

He doesn’t start running immediately, just stares at you slackjawed, but then he shakes his head and runs after you.

You sled down the grass a few times, turning it into a race that neither of you really win because the cardboard keeps catching on the grass and catapulting you off. It’s fun, though. You think Dave is having fun too, because he doesn’t stop smiling.

The rest of the day is similarly planned. You had gone through all of your old Pesterchum logs to find the stuff that you promised to do when you met in real life but never really did much of. You have a water balloon fight in the park, and you blow dry Dave, who isn’t really amused by this use of your powers. You both change, then, and move to a city that you’ve picked out for this occasion. You do shitty paintings of each other, then offer your skills to passersby and pay them when you’re finished. You order every item off the new McDonald’s menu. You go to a thrift store and buy the worst disguises you can think of and walk around pretending you’re eccentric rich people, which you guess is sort of true now. You walk around with boomboxes even though they’re way outdated technology and blast Dave’s remix of Space Jam. You go to another city and find a place that rents out paddleboats and paddle around in a plastic swan until your legs are tired. You get tourist shirts and go to the top of the highest building in the area and take a bunch of selfies where you only make peace signs. You go to the most expensive restaurant in the area for dinner and order off their kid’s menu. 

Most of this stuff admittedly is stuff you were joking about, but it makes for a fun day anyway, and Dave is still smiling even as it gets later. You finally take him back to your house for the sleepover portion, where you promise to let him choose whatever movie he wants, and you won’t complain even once. (“Riffing doesn’t count.”)

You settle into a showing of some movie about killer birds, which is actually hilarious, and spend the whole time making fun of it mercilessly. By the time it’s over, it’s nearly midnight, and you hope that he doesn’t notice that you’re starting to squirm around nervously.

“Did you have a good day?” you ask him, smiling at how he cuddles a bit more into your shoulder at the sound of your voice.

“What, begging for compliments now?”

“Nah, just wanna make sure I kept my promise.”

“Yeah,” he says after a few moments. “You did. It was perfect.”

“Good. You deserve as many good days as I can give you and then more.” You run your hands on his shoulder, stroking idly over his bicep. You hadn’t really thought before all of this recent stuff about how much more comfortable you are with touching him than with anybody else, but it’s never felt weird to be close with him like this. Just…right.

With your other hand, you check your phone for the time. Your heart starts beating faster when you realize that it’s 11:59. “Birthday’s nearly over,” you say in a whisper. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The clock turns twelve.

You take a shaky breath, then nod firmly. You promised yourself you were going to do this. “Hey, Dave, I have one more present for you, actually. Sort of. Um—not for your birthday, just—timing ended up weird, is all. Mind following me to the piano?”

He looks at you oddly, but nods and stretches before getting up.

You take another shaky breath, then get up also and walk to the piano. “Okay. Um. I know I’m not the best singer ever, but I wrote this song, and—it sorta felt like it needed lyrics.”

“For me?” Dave asks, hesitant and quiet, and you nod, not making eye contact.

Before you can convince yourself not to do this, you take one last deep breath and start off.

The piano piece is pretty simple, but you wrote it thinking of him. The lyrics are silly, referencing some of your in-jokes mostly, but the chorus is pretty clear about your intentions here.

 

_It’s a bit hard for me to know_

_Exactly what love is,_

_But when I try to think about it,_

_The person I think of is_

_The person who’s always been closest to me._

 

* * *

 

You are twenty years old, and you have no idea what the fuck is happening, because if what the fuck you thought was happening was really the fuck that’s actually happening, you’re pretty sure the man you love is singing you a love song that he wrote for you.

He finishes. You don’t think you’ve breathed the entire time. He nods firmly, like he’s deciding something. “Okay, so, um. If—you didn’t get it, exactly—I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what you said about just loving the best you can, and. The more I thought about it the more I realized that the person in my life who I want to love the best I’m capable of is…you? You’re my best friend, but you’re so much more than that, too. You’re the most important person to me, and…please don’t feel any pressure here, I don’t expect you to feel the same way or anything and so you can just ignore me if you want, but I really like you. In, like, a boyfriends and kissing way, I think. And so—seriously, you don’t have to even say anything if you don’t want to and we can go back to normal but I just wanted to tell you so you knew—”

Holy shit. Holy _shit._ “John,” you interrupt, voice shaky and wondering. You take your shades off and stare at him. “Are you—do you really mean this?”

“Yeah,” he says, and he finally looks at you, and his eyes speak sincerity. “I like you. Um—maybe even love you. But seriously, if you don’t—” 

“You’re _such_ a dumbass,” you say, and you pull him up, because there’s no way this is happening still but while it’s not happening you at least want to feel him in your arms. You drag him into another hug. “Holy fuck. I can’t believe this is real.”

“I don’t know if this is a good reaction or not,” he mumbles hesitantly, breath warm against your neck, hand on your back.

“John.” You draw back, keeping him in your arms. “I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen.”

“Oh,” he says on a gasp, eyes widening.

“Yeah, like—I got a crush on you and then I fell in love and I kept telling myself to get over it because you couldn’t—but. You’re so—” You shake your head, disbelieving. “I couldn’t. But I never—I never ever thought this could—oh my God. I don’t…” You move one of your hands from his waist to his cheek and trace your thumb along it. “Can I kiss you?”

He flushes. “I can’t promise much, I’ve never really done this, but—yeah. Yeah, you can.”

So you do. And it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, because it’s him, it’s John, and feeling his lips against yours and feeling his fingers dig into your shirt make you think this might really actually be happening after all. You still don’t exactly know how or why this happened, how he got from wife-and-kids all those years ago to kissing you right now, but you think all of that can wait. After all, you’ve been waiting for this moment long enough.

 

* * *

 

There will be time for explanations later, and you’ll laugh hysterically at his flow chart, and he’ll make a face at you and flick you on the shoulder, and he’ll tell you that he thinks he’s probably demiromantic or maybe just the type of whateverromantic that means he just likes you, and you kiss him on the forehead and tell him you don’t give a fuck, but if he wants to talk it out with you later he can.

There will also be time later to tell their friends, for Rose to smile knowingly at both of you and Jade to screech loudly, for reactions varying from ‘oh, fucking _finally_ ’ to ‘wait, you weren’t already together?’

There will be time for you to explain to him how you fell in love with him and why, and for him to smile softly at you and kiss you short and sweet and apologize for not knowing. There will be time for you to go out on official dates, and for him to get more comfortable kissing you, and to hold hands in public, and for him to say firmly, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he knows he loves you and wants to be with you forever. There will be time for you to say you already knew he loved you, and time for you someday to ask whether he wouldn’t mind making that forever a bit more official.

There will be time for all of that, for happiness and sadness and learning to find your place in this world. But for now, you think to yourself that you might finally know what love is. You think love might just be seeing John getting into bed, and reaching out for you with a smile, glasses off and eyes shining in the moonlight, and getting into bed next to him and him kissing you on the cheek, and his breathing evening out as he feels your warmth seep into his skin. You think love might be knowing that you have all the time in the world to be with him. You think love might just be you and John.

But even if you’re wrong, it’s all right. After all, you are only twenty years old. You have plenty of years left to figure things out together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is the ending rushed? yes. 
> 
> that's all there is to say about that. i just wanted to be done lol. endings are my kryptonite, along with writing as a general practice
> 
> incidentally i am never ever going to stop referencing birdemic in my fics. that's just the movie i'll always reference. because it's spectacular is why.

**Author's Note:**

> I Still Can't Believe I've Written Pepsicola In Twenty-Eighteen, But Damned If I Didn't Do It.
> 
> thanks for reading it anyway if you've done so lol :P i always appreciate people bearing with my silliness
> 
> title is, incidentally, from 100 Years by Five For Fighting because i thought it was appropriate with the structure and ending so hey


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